Roots

There's a reason I haven't posted lately.

I moved into a townhouse last weekend. I took the plunge and bought a place. I'm sitting in my living room, "borrowing" my neighbor's wifi, listening to my Carpenters' Greatest Hits CD. On the bookshelf across from me sit four prints that I bought in Europe; two in Paris, two in Amsterdam. They make me dream of going back.

This latest event in my life has put my travel plan. Not that I was going anywhere anytime soon, but even thinking about getting away is difficult, what with mortgages to deal with.

Buying a house is a Big Boy Thing. Much like traveling solo to Thailand and Malaysia was a Big Boy Thing. I ask myself, "If I didn't go on the Big Boy Trip, would I have had the courage to risk becoming a homeowner.

Every trip I've taken has stretched me, forced me to think on my feet, pushed me to the physical and mental limit. The homebuying process is no picnic, either. But it felt right. It felt like the next logical step in my life.

I know I'll end up traveling somewhere. You can't kill the travel bug. You can only let it sleep until it wakes up and kicks you in the butt.

(By the way, this doesn't mean this blog is on hiatus. I do have at least three stories left to tell from Thailand. I just need the time and energy to pump them out.)

The Gift of Crickets

(Warning: This post could be considered disgusting. TMI, if you will. Turn away now, if that is not your thing...)

I love the Internet.

If it wasn't for the Internet, I would not have met Julie. Julie is a fellow travel junkie currently residing in Mexico City (See her blog here.) Through that wonderful social utility called Facebook, Julie let her friends know that she bought some crickets at a nearby market. To which I replied, "That is so awesome." To which she replied. "I can get you some, if you want." Then I was all, "No WAY." Then she was all, "WAY." And back and forth we went.

A week later, a beat-up manila envelope arrives at my door. Inside, emanating an odor best described as "earthly", lies a plastic bag filled with crickets.



I stared at the bag for five minutes. I expected the crickets to be larger. My guess is the flight to L.A. caused the carcasses to come apart.



I took a cricket and examined it. The longer I looked at it, the more anxious I became. I don't need more anxiety in my life. So I popped it in my mouth. First impressions: Crickets are salty. But they're not anything special.

I was feeling a bit hungry, so I popped in a few more.



I'm not at the stage where I can grab a handful of crickets and stuff my face with them, like Doritos. They remain in their baggie, on my desk, waiting to be consumed.

You're more than welcome to try them. I've left the best bits in the bag.



Thanks, Julie! Next round of bugs is on me...